Sunsets, luck and chronic fatigue

I’m currently sitting in the living room of my new apartment, on a temporary set up of my own desk chair and a plastic folding table, listening to the repairmen as they replace the broken window. I’m deeply grateful that I don’t have to pay for it. I’m deeply grateful that I get to sit up here and watch the sunset bathe buildings in an orange light.

Pictured: A black window set into white walls, outside of which are buildings lit up by the sunset.

I still don’t know when I’ll be able to move in. Probably not for months. Today’s visit revealed more damage from the broken pipe–the drywall ceiling in both bedrooms was soaked and part of it appears to be crumbling. That will also be replaced by the building company, at no cost to me.

I keep thinking of how extraordinarily lucky it was that I hadn’t had a chance to fully move in. I’d brought my furniture, but it’s all still wrapped, and my books are still snug in their plastic boxes.

Pictured: my current writing setup, a plastic folding table and a gray desk chair. In the background is a black plastic box with a yellow lid.

I left the new apartment shortly after writing the above, meaning to go to the old apartment to do laundry and shower. By the time the clothes I washed were in the dryer, fatigue had crashed over me and I couldn’t do much but lie in bed for the next few hours. I had Pringles and a piece of banana bread for dinner. I didn’t manage to do any writing before I fell asleep at 9pm, having dragged myself out of bed and to my mother’s house.

It’s been two years, and I’m still trying to learn how not to get frustrated with my own body when that kind of thing happens. I don’t dare make a lot of plans these days, because my body’s limits are now unpredictable. I think back to my life in New York in 2018 and 2019, when I could easily clock twenty thousand steps as I traipsed all over Brooklyn and Manhattan, walking almost everywhere so as not to miss a second of the city. In 2022, sometimes eating Pringles in bed is all I can do.

I’m still tired today, though not as badly as yesterday. I did my mother’s laundry and managed to make some more progress in packing up the old apartment. Every little bit counts. I have to remember that when it comes to writing, too. Even if it’s word by word, the next book will eventually get written.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s